Ignition
by seilleanmor
Summary: There's always been a spark. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_There's always been a spark_

_Castle is not mine_

* * *

><p><strong><em>For Shannon, who likes fire.<em>**

He gags, acrid burning in his throat and his heart and his consciousness. But he won't, can't, show weakness. He shifts his weight slightly, feels the slide of his kneecaps where they support him, the jagged pattern of the stone floor unforgiving. He leans forwards slightly, swaying, and hears one of his knees crack against the pressure. He could sit back on his calves; rest his butt on his heels. But sitting like this keeps him at eye level with her and he needs her eyes far more than he needs relief from the excruciation this position brings.

She has a chair. She's bound to it. Not gagged, not anymore. She's slipping in and out of consciousness, too weak to scream. He catches the scent again, rolling off her in waves, and nausea assaults his stomach once more. Gasoline.

He used to like this scent, breathed deeply whenever he had to fill up the tank in his car. Now it smells of terror. It smells like Kate's face when she saw the container, the unbridled panic in her rolling eyes. They doused her about twenty minutes ago. He doesn't understand what they're waiting for. A sign of life from her? Do they want to watch her struggle while she burns? Or is this for him. Yes, he knows it is. They figured out pretty quickly that the only way they could hurt him would be to hurt her. And they want to see him suffer.

He knows they'll be back with matches, with a lighter. With fire. He knows that the flames will not engulf her face, that he will have to watch her eyes, watch her choke on terror as she burns. He doesn't want to kill a man, but for her he will end them both in the silence between his heartbeats.

The door opens, footsteps on the tile. Her head snaps forwards, her eyes rolling in her skull as she tries to find purchase somewhere, hold onto something. She finds his face, her eyes widening. He can't smile at her. He tries to show her everything, tries to allow his love for her to appear, naked on his face.

She sees the first man, the leader, pull a box of matches from his pocket and she starts to fight against the bindings, her atrophying muscles finding strength from somewhere unimaginable.

They've been here for days, he thinks. They checked in with the captain before they followed the lead, but their captors moved them. He knows the boys will be looking, but in the wrong places. He has no idea where they are.

Tears begin to slide down Kate's cheeks, agony marring her features into a creature he cannot love. He finds his voice, gravelly against his throat. He gave up with words when they cut her, could not save her with them. "It's okay, Kate. It's okay. It'll be over quickly, I promise. Just look at me."

She shuts her eyes instead, shaking her head wildly. "Kate." Her eyes snap open, bloodshot. "Kate, I love you. I love you so much."

Her head stills, the wild movements soothed by his words. The two men move over to her, standing far enough away that they will not be engulfed in the blaze of their creation.

The first man pulls a match from the packet, swipes it against the rough side of the box. It lights. Rick shuts his eyes, tries not to listen.

He hears a whimper from Kate, almost lost in the room but cutting straight through him.

Then, two staccato gunshots.

He opens his eyes. The bodies of the two men are slumped on either side of her chair, blood pooling out underneath them. The first man is missing the lower half of his jaw.

The match is dangerously close to Kate. Rick pulls himself over, fighting the bindings around his calves and his thighs. Throws himself down on top of the flame, feels it sear through his jacket, his shirt, his skin, and then burn out.

He can hear Kate's chest heaving, sobs wracking her slight frame. Then voices. Ryan, Esposito, voices he doesn't know and doesn't care about.

He keeps his eyes on her while they undo his bindings, help him onto a stretcher. Watches her until he can't see her anymore, until he's inside the waiting bus. A paramedic tries to tend to him but he pushes the wisp of a woman aside.

He struggles out of the bus, walks haltingly over to the other ambulance, legs screaming. He can hear her sobbing in the back of the thing, unintelligible words, trying to save herself still.

He bursts through the doors, the two paramedics trying to restrain her glance up at him. Her wild gaze snags on him, her body slumps onto the stretcher. One of the paramedics looks at him, his gaze newly respectful. "We have to get her clothes of and sponge her down. If there was a spark-" he trails off, the visions of ambulances combusting that burn through Rick's mind finishing his sentence adequately.

The other man doesn't stop watching Kate as he speaks. "She won't let us touch her."

Rick wants to gag again. The thought of their hands wandering over her. There's no way they could respect her, cherish her enough to satisfy him. "Give us a minute. Let me talk to her."

His voice is weighted, heavy with their ordeal. The paramedics don't question him, just step from the bus. He sinks to his knees beside Kate's stretcher, cups her cheek with his palm. "Katie?" Her eyelids flutter and then open. "They have to get you changed and cleaned up, love. The gasoline. It's too dangerous. If there was a spark." He swallows hard.

She shakes her head, panicked still. He doesn't know what they did to her, was not conscious to watch all of it. Whatever it was has rendered her mute. "Okay. Okay, love." He shuts his eyes, rubs his other hand over his face. "Katie, someone has to. Will you let me do it?"

She shuts her eyes, nods slowly. He stands up, his legs wailing in protest. Outside, he finds the paramedics waiting. "She said she'll let me do it."

The older paramedic nods. "There are scrubs and a damp cloth in there. Just wipe her down as best you can. Careful with her lacerations."

He nods at the man, turns, shaking, to go back inside. Lacerations. He didn't know. They beat him and they knocked him out and he didn't know. Inside the ambulance, he helps her to sit up slowly, rests his forehead against hers.

"Alright. Kate, love. I'm just going to undo the buttons on your shirt, okay?" She's watching his face intently. She blinks, then nods. He slips each button from its hole as gently as he can, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time. He will not look. He didn't look when her apartment blew up and he won't now.

He slides the shirt down her arms, trying not to sob at her pasty skin, her gooseflesh. Still doesn't look as he unbuttons her pants and slides them down her legs. She curls her legs up under herself, watches as he wipes at her skin with the flannel. She breathes in through tightly clenched teeth as he sponges down her cuts. They're everywhere. He doesn't understand how.

"Hurts" she whispers and he kisses her forehead again, unsure how else to comfort her.

"I know, love. I'm so sorry."

He helps her dress in the scrubs, pulls the drawstring tight to hold the pants up around her hipbones. Climbs onto the stretcher with her and cradles her as they're driven to the hospital.

Its hours before he sees her again. He has a full body examination, the doctor determines that he just needs to rest and gives him a prescription of pain pills. Dresses his burn and then they allow him to dress himself. His clothes are too big, holding the memories of the ache in his chest as he watched her.

She finds him. He waits for her in the lobby. A nurse walks her to him. "She has some stitches. The dressings need to be changes every day. I don't think she should be alone."

He smiles, as reassuringly as he can manage while fighting the urge to crush Kate to his chest. The nurse leaves them alone and he turns to Kate, opens his mouth to speak and finds his tongue has swollen and he can't. he just can't, not anymore.

Kate chuckles sardonically. "Don't see why I can't be trusted to tell you that myself."

He shrugs, takes her hand. His town car is waiting outside. He takes her back to his loft. She doesn't even raise an eyebrow. He settles her into his guest room, makes sure she's comfortable.

Then he sleeps. Sitting up, outside the door to her room, but he sleeps.

* * *

><p><em>There can be a second chapter if you want it.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_There's always been a spark_

_Castle is not mine_

* * *

><p>She wakes on fire. Flames licking at her spine, she arches her back to get away from them. She opens her eyes, her chest heaving. Her hands are gnarled, her fingertips claws against the mattress. Mattress. Right. A bed. In Rick's loft. Because he's Rick now. The look in his eyes when he thought he was about to watch her burn, he will always be Castle but he is Rick now too.<p>

She sinks onto the bed, pushes the comforter off her body and lies there, just breathing. It's not too dark. There's a tall lamp in the corner, dim but there. Enough to comfort her, enough to allow her to escape the darkness behind her eyelids.

She needs water. It takes a long time to get out of the bed, every muscle in her body aching, her bones turned inside out with the flaming bursts of fear. It _hurts_. She didn't know that just the echo of death could hurt so much. She didn't know.

She opens the door. The hallway is dark. She isn't afraid of the dark. In fact, she relishes it. Light is fire and therefore darkness is cold and soothing. To the left of the door, slumped in the hallway, is Rick.

She smiles to herself. He's probably trying to protect her, and to be honest she's glad. Perhaps a drink can wait. She sinks to her knees. His floors are wood, very clean. Cool and comforting. She reaches out to touch him, fingertips tracing his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. His eyelids flutter and then they're open. He sees it's her and he smiles.

"Hey, Kate. Are you okay?" She smiles too, the light shining from his every pore bathing her in his love.

Her hand is still on his face, she pulls it back. He snags it in his own and watches her eyes, waiting for an answer. "I, um, I had a nightmare. I needed a drink. And then you were here, and your back is gonna be hell in the morning if you sleep like that."

He tugs on the hand he's holding and she falls to sit next to him, hip against his stomach, bent knee pressing into his thigh. "A nightmare?"

She shrugs. Rests her face against his shoulder. "I was burning."

She's proud that her voice doesn't break, but it doesn't seem to help him. "Oh, Katie. Let's get you a drink." He's coddling her but she needs it. She allows him to pull her to her feet, lead her down the hall. He still has her hand in his. They descend the staircase side by side. In the kitchen, he fills a glass with water from the filter in his fridge and hands it to her.

She takes a sip, swills it around her mouth before she swallows. It's blessedly cold. She shudders, but smiles to let him know she's alright. "First ice, now fire huh?" He doesn't laugh, the lines of his face hard in the darkness.

"Kate-" he starts, and she knows. She does, and she can't do this now.

She puts the empty glass on the kitchen island. "Why were you in the hall?" She tries not to sound too harsh, isn't wholly sure that she succeeds.

He can't look at her all of a sudden. "I just. I couldn't be far from you. I. I'm sorry."

She smiles gently, nods. "You shouldn't sleep in the hall; you'll pay for it tomorrow."

He nods, plays with the rim of the glass for a moment. "You're right, I'm sorry." He turns to leave the kitchen, heading for his bedroom. She moves around the island to intercept him. He almost walks into her, but catches himself.

She reaches up to tousle his hair under the guise of fixing his bed head. Really, she just wants tangible evidence that he's alright. "Rick. Come to bed."

His eyes are comically wide, she would laugh but she can feel her heart pounding against her ribcage and she is about to sleep in his arms and she wants to say it's purely platonic but she can't. She just can't.

He shakes his head. She feels sick. "Please?"

He won't look at her. "I can't, Kate. I can't hold you all night and then go back to normal tomorrow. I _can't_."

Oh. He thinks that she. Oh. She wraps her arms around his waist, holds him to her, head on his chest. "I'm not asking you to. I don't want to waste any more time."

His arms are around her shoulders, but there's no weight behind it. "Kate, the wall."

There's a sigh in his voice, and anguish.

"Help me knock it down?" She whispers and then he squeezes, holding her exactly right.

He kisses the top of her head. "I don't think I can do slow with you, Katherine Beckett."

She laughs, then. "Three years isn't slow?" He laughs too, but cuts himself off.

"Kate. If we're going to do this then you need to know. I'm serious about you." He pulls back slightly to meet her eyes. "I'm so in love with you." He breathes it. It's gentle. "I know you know. I know you remember." She opens her mouth to defend herself and he shushes her. "Hey, it's okay. I forgave you a long time ago. It doesn't matter. Just. Yeah. I love you."

He sends her a self-deprecating grin. She swallows hard. "I'm sorry Rick. I'm so sorry." He shrugs. "I was going to tell you, I really was. I wanted to be able to say it back before I did." He pales a little and she knows it's fear. He must think that by rushing her to confess, he's ruined his chances. No.

"Richard? I love you. I love you so much." He smiles, wider than she's ever seen before, and then he's kissing her and it's a good kind of fire, burning in the best possible way.

It takes them a long time to get up the stairs. She walks backwards, still kissing him. Forcing him to follow her.

In the bedroom, the fire suddenly goes out. She doesn't want to do this now, when they're both tired and hurting, emotionally and physically. They settle in the centre of the bed, her curled against him, his arms a cocoon.

She sleeps.

They wake early, him first. He lies in the soft light of the early morning and watches her, trying not to cry. She's heavy against him, a comforting weight. When she wakes, she's more subdued than she was last night. He doesn't think she dreamed, certainly nothing troubling enough to warrant an outward reaction.

She sits up, rubbing her eyes. Takes the ends of her hair in her fist and breathes deeply, smelling it. "Oh God. I smell like gasoline." She wrinkles her nose and he sits up too so he can kiss the end of it.

He doesn't fully believe they're really doing this, but then she finds his mouth with hers. They kiss languidly for a while, and then he pulls away from her gently. "Take a bath. I have a veritable Jacuzzi and you're welcome to it."

She dips her head, her smile wide and bright and this particular smile makes him conflicted. It reminds him of sheer relief and leftover adrenaline and exploding banks. It reminds him of 'how are you?' and an almost kiss and _she came to dinner._

And now she's in his bed, kissing him good morning. But yes, she does smell like gas and he can't stop thinking about how close she came to burning. He has to kiss her again for that, try to suppress the memory.

She nods at him and slides easily from the bed. Once she's gone, he collapses back onto the mattress. Damn it. He didn't want it to happen like this. He didn't want _them_ to be kick started by fear, by a near death experience. He's been trying to work up the nerve to ask her on a date for weeks now. If he didn't think she'd run, he'd buy her a ring tomorrow.

This is it, and it's at once exhilarating and terrifying and wonderful and scary and beautiful. He thinks he needs a whole new language to describe how she looked sleeping in his arms. How it felt. He doubts it would do her justice.

He finally climbs out of bed, goes downstairs to the kitchen. His mother and daughter are seated at the island and they both turn to him with raised eyebrows. It's a sort of mini walk of shame.

His mother is the first to speak. "I don't recall your bedroom being relocated to upstairs, Richard."

He sighs, scowling. "Mother. Please. Yesterday was. Yesterday was really tough. We just. We needed to be together. It's delicate, still. Please."

His mother's eyes soften, all traces of teasing gone. "But it's something?"

"I guess so."

Her whole face lights up. "Oh, darling, I'm so happy for you." His eyes dart over to Alexis. She's smiling, and relief floods him. He was scared. She resented Kate for a while and he was terrified that hadn't gone away, but she looks happy.

Kate chooses that moment to make her appearance. She's shirked the scrubs she slept in, and she's wearing one of his shirts. Just one of his shirts. It hits her mid thigh and leaves the rest of her leg exposed, milky skin calling to him in a delicious siren song. She smiles, wishes the two other women good morning and assures him that no, she's not really hungry.

She goes upstairs and he can't help but follow her. He doesn't want her out of his sight if he can help it. She's in the guest room, sitting cross-legged on the bed and clearly waiting for him.

He slips through the door, closes it behind himself. She looks up at him, her eyes damp.

"Castle, we need to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

_There's always been a spark_

_Castle is not mine_

* * *

><p>He falls back against the door. She watches as his scapulae connect with the wood. Watches as he shuts his eyes, her words already too heavy for him to bear stoically. He swallows, she watches his Adam's apple bob in his throat, longs to press her lips to it. He can't meet her eyes.<p>

"Kate, please. Please give us a chance. Please."

His voice is not so much breaking as already broken. Oh, God. She's done this to him. He thinks-

no. This is her fault. How he doubts. "No. God, Rick, no, look at me." He does, and she tries to show him as best she can. She beckons him over to the bed and he sits opposite her with his legs crossed.

"This isn't about us, okay. I wanna talk about work. About what happened." She gives him a moment to allow the relief to surge through him. "I don't want to keep it all inside and let it fester. Not this time."

He nods, his eyes overflowing with relief and love and joy. She looks down at her hands, picks at the bedspread beneath her. Tucks her hair behind her ear with one trembling hand. "I, uh. I can't really remember much. Tell me the story?"

He nods, clears his throat and then he begins.

_This case is tough. There are two victims. A little girl and her brother. They know who the killer is; they just don't know where he is or how to catch him. Rick can see in every line of Kate's face that it's killing her. It is him, too. But this is hard on her. The children's mother died when they were very young. They lived with their father, who has a new girlfriend._

_She doesn't like children. So the children's father and his brother killed both of the children, in order to allow him to live a happy, baggage-free life with his girlfriend. When Kate figured it out, she disappeared off to the ladies room for ten minutes. When she came back her eyes were red and her hands shook. He wanted to hold her but he couldn't. His own body trembled with his need but he fought it. _

_Now, they've heard that the children's uncle might be at his house. The captain tried to persuade them to take back up, but Kate was adamant that since he had no idea he was a suspect, it would be fine with just her. And Castle. She'd tagged his name on to the end of her speech and his chest had swelled. _

_In the car, she's very quiet, very still. He keeps expecting her to turn to him and say something profound, but she keeps her eyes on the road. They arrive at the house and they enter slowly, her first, him at her six. He shuts the door behind them, they round the corner to the kitchen._

_They grab Kate before either of them knows what's happening. He tries to fight them, but one of the men smacks him over the head with something he doesn't see. His vision swims, he tries to find her but his eyes don't want to move and then everything is black._

Kate swallows hard. "I was stupid. God, I was so stupid. Why didn't I just bring the boys?"

He reaches out, squeezes her bare calf. She's suddenly acutely aware of her clothing and how little it leaves to the imagination. "Hey, it's not your fault. It's okay. We're okay. It doesn't matter."

She nods, wipes at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. She has to be strong. "Rick. Are you sure this is a good idea. Doing this now."

He removes his hand from her calf and she aches. He shrugs. "To be honest, no. I don't know that it is. I don't want this to start out of fear."

She's trembling again. "Yeah. I mean, I wanted it to be special."

Rick smiles at her, trying to be reassuring. "Hey, nothing will ever be more special to me than the memory of this morning. You sleeping in my arms, I. Jesus, Kate. I'm speechless." He chuckles; it's too loud, grating in the stillness of the room.

There's a knock at the door, both their eyes fly to it. "Come in" she calls, and she's proud of the strength behind her voice.

Alexis pushes open the door, pokes her head around it. "Uh, sorry, am I interrupting?" They both shake their heads. "Dad, could I talk to Kate for a moment?"

Just like that, her heart is pounding against her ribcage. Can she do this? Can she handle a conversation with her partner's daughter? Rick climbs off the bed and kisses Alexis on the forehead on his way out of the room. The girl stands awkwardly by the door. Kate stands too. She's not trying to use her height to her advantage. She's _not_.

Alexis is just staring her down, and it makes her more uncomfortable than she'd like to admit. "Uh, are you okay? You want to talk?"

The girl shrugs, red braid falling over her shoulder. "Yes. I would like to talk." The girl bites the words out. She appraises Kate slowly, taking in the older woman's outfit. "You're wearing my dad's shirt."

Kate blushes, looks down at her bare feet. "My clothes got destroyed and I didn't really want to stay in scrubs. I can put them back on if it makes you uncomfortable, though."

Alexis seems to soften just a little. "I'll find you something of mine to borrow. Until you go home." Kate coughs. Ah. The girl wants her to leave. She does need to go home, actually. Needs to change, take a shower with her own products. Needs her own bed. But she needs him, too.

Alexis, apparently, isn't done. "Are you and my dad together now?"

Kate isn't entirely sure how to handle such blunt questions. "Alexis, I. I think we are, yes."

The girl nods, something in her eyes changes. Kate can't tell if something broke or was healed. "Look, Kate. I have a hard time trusting you with my dad, after all the times you've put him in danger."

"Alexis, I." She is burning with indignation.

"No, I understand, it's not your fault. I know he doesn't listen when you tell him to stay in the car or whatever. I know you try to keep him safe."

"I do, Alexis, I promise you. I know it's selfish of me to want him around, but I really do try my best to protect him."

Alexis nods, eyes flitting around the room. "He really loves you, Kate. And because of that, you have the power to hurt him. I don't think he'd recover if he lost you."

Kate can't speak for a moment, she stands blinking down at the younger woman. "Alexis, I'm not going to leave your father. I think. I think he could be it, for me."

Alexis turns to her, eyes burning. "Kate I'm not talking about leaving. You can't be so reckless with your own life, so quick to put yourself in danger. It's not just about you anymore. If my dad had to watch you get hurt, It." Alexis takes a deep breath that sounds perilously close to a sob. "It would kill him."

Kate doesn't realise her hands are fisted until she relaxes them, her phalanges screaming. She can't afford to be so tense, everything hurts. "I promise. Alexis, look at me. I promise I'll do my best to remember that it's not just my life at stake anymore. I promise I'll do my best to avoid dangerous situations."

The girl nods once more, apparently satisfied with Kate's promises, at least for now. They're not empty, either. She saw what her shooting did to him, how it filled him with volatile anger. How close he came to irreparable damage. She absolutely cannot allow that to happen again.

Alexis leaves the room and Rick's waiting right outside. He exchanges a few terse words with his daughter that Kate doesn't quite hear and then he's back. He watches her carefully, assessing the damage his daughter has caused. Kate does her best to display 'I'm fine' in every angle and curve and plane of her body. She is. More than fine. She's elated. Even Alexis cannot burst the euphoric little bubble she's in. they're doing this. Really, truly. Wow.

He sits on the bed next to her, wraps one arm low around her back. "Hey, I'm sorry about that. She's still a little sore after this summer, you know."

Kate turns to look at him, finds his mouth so close to hers that it's a fight not to give in and kiss him. "It's alright. She has every right to be upset. I was expecting it, if I'm honest."

Rick kisses her then, smiles against her mouth. "I love you so much." She feels him say it, his lips catching against her teeth.

She pulls away. "No. Not yet. I know you do, but can we take it just a little bit slow?"

He grins, wide and beautiful. She wonders if he'd feel that his masculinity is threatened by the descriptor, or whether he'd be able to see how deeply she means it. "Of course. Yes, of course."

She kisses his cheek, stands up. "I should go home. I have the next couple of days off, by order of Gates."

He smiles at her and stands up too. "Alright. Kate? Can I take you out tonight, please?"

She flushes, dips her head. "That'd be lovely." She leaves in a hurry before he can persuade her to stay, changing back into the scrubs as fast as she can. They're filthy, clinging to her, but she doesn't have another choice.

Her bathtub feels alien after the Jacuzzi at his place and she spends the whole time fighting the thought that it's uncomfortable. It is comfortable. It _is_.


	4. Chapter 4

_There's always been a spark_

_Castle is not mine_

* * *

><p>She can't light the candles. After a tough case she usually lights a candle and settles in the bath with a good book. She can't do it. Can't even pick up the box of matches, her hands trembling.<p>

She was almost burnt alive. Her knees give out and she sinks to the floor. Her tongue tastes of metal. _She was almost burnt alive_. She doesn't understand what she did to so upset the universe that she has to face her demise first through ice and then fire.

She liked the freezer better. It didn't even hurt, not towards the end anyway. She was aware of his arms around her, and although she couldn't really feel them there, it was still comforting. She would rather die in his arms than have him forced to watch, helpless.

She could see him trying to hold it together for her, how he failed. She watched him break apart, watched him fracture. His eyes swam, stormy and closer to gray than blue. The last time she saw him cry she felt his tears falling onto her face and then she felt nothing.

He told her to watch him. God, he thought she was going to die and he told her to watch him. And then he shut his eyes. She doesn't blame him. She hardly noticed, half-unconscious and delirious as she was. Her memories of the incident are, at best, cloudy. Her cells remember, the way her whole body recoils from the matches. The way she trembles. But her mind doesn't. Not really. She cannot see her captors, the warehouse. Has no memory of acquiring the deluge of lacerations that decorate her milky skin.

She can remember him. His face, his voice, his words. Always him, saving her.

Can she do this? Can she be ready? The sunlight is bright, streaming through a slat in the blinds. Dust molecules dance in the air currents, catching and tumbling and floating. She slips further down the wall, the wood floor warm against the notches of her vertebrae.

She shudders, elbows scraping, dry skin catching in the space between the boards. It is far too difficult to fight this time, too much alone and broken. She should get up but there's no reason to, none at all. Only her here, lonely and alone both.

_Just look at me_, he said. As if it would help her to see the reflection of her own death in his eyes. As if he could be her saviour. Oh, but he is. He is and it hurts.

He knocks on her door. Her head is heavy, she can't get up. He knocks again, calls with his mouth pressed against the wood. "Kate? Are you okay?"

She can taste the fear in his words, rolling agony surging through her bloodstream, permeating her cells, taking her.

She clings to the doorframe for support, has to shut her eyes against the rushing blackness in her brain, try not to drown. She opens the door with her eyes still closed, eyelashes dark shadows against her cheeks.

His fingertips against her cheekbone, palm warm against her skin. She leans into his hand, eyelids fluttering.

Finally, she can open her eyes. He's watching her, she burns under his gaze and she cannot tell if this is pleasant warmth or suffocation.

"Kate? Are you okay?"

_No_.

"Yeah. Yes, I'm good. Come in."

He does, stepping across the threshold and wrapping her in his arms. She kicks the door closed, sinks into his embrace. He's kissing her hair, her temple, a whisper of his lips across her forehead. "Kate," he breathes it against her. Her name and his heart both, the single syllable tells her everything.

He's holding her too tightly. She squirms; he loosens his grip enough that she can breathe, enough that he can still breathe her in. "Oh God, Kate. You're okay."

She pushes against his chest, feels the erratic beat of his heart under her palms. "Look at me. I'm fine. I didn't burn. I'm fine."

Say it again. Maybe it'll be true this time.

"I'm fine." He nods, pushes his nose against her cheek so he can kiss the corner of her mouth, his whole being trembling.

"Kate," he says it against her, teeth scraping her flesh. "I don't want to take you out. I want to just be with you, and only you."

She nods, forehead falling against his collar bone. Heart pounding against her ribcage, frenzied as a captive bird. "Okay. Okay, we can do that."

He smiles then, soft and fragile but there, trying. Leads her to her couch and sits down, tugging her down on top of him. She sits in his lap, curled up with her head at his glenohumeral joint. His breath sets strands of her hair fluttering.

She can say it now, here in this quiet place. "I almost died."

He flinches; the play of his bicep under her fingertips at once fascinates and terrifies her. "But you didn't." His voice is strong, convincing. For him or for her? "You didn't, Kate. You're alright."

She squeezes his arm, he relaxes. She sinks further into his lap. "How many times am I going to almost die, Castle? How long do I have to keep doing this?"

He kisses her, then. For that. For admitting she's fragile, admitting it's a struggle not to let it defeat her. "I don't know, Katie. I don't know."

Tears pool, clouding her vision. He's blue all over. "What did I do? What did I do to deserve this?"

He clutches at her, arms wrapping around her, palms at her sternum. Rocks her gently. "You didn't do anything, Kate. You're amazing. Utterly incredible. It's not your fault."

"I can't keep doing this."

He kisses her hair, shushes in her ear. "I know, love. I know. There's not a lot we can do about it, though."

She chokes. "We?"

He tilts her in his lap so he can meet her eyes. "Yes, we. You're not alone in this. I love you. I love you, Kate."

She kisses his jaw. Stubble. Hmm. She likes it, rubs her face against his so it scratches at her tender skin. "I love you too." The words are easy, she feels free and light and buoyant.

He smiles down at her. She grins back, eyes crinkling at the edges. She didn't have laughter lines before she met him. She likes them.

He swallows hard. "Kate, you know, you don't have to keep getting into these situations. There is a way."

He moves her gently off his lap, stands, and she knows before he speaks, is already fracturing as his words deliver the final blow.

"You could quit."

She is frozen. She is suspended.

"What?" She stands too, forcing her knees to lock. "Quit? You really think I could?"

He rushes back over to her, clutches at her upper arms, soft flesh moulding to the shape of his fingertips. "I know being a detective is a part of you. I know you love it. You're amazing at it. But no one's forcing you to stay."

She's shaking again. Cataclysmic tremors wracking her slender frame. "I can't just _quit_, Castle." The words, the thought, acid on her tongue.

He presses his lips to her forehead. "I know. I know. But the option's always there." He pulls back to meet her eyes. "Just for the record, I will love you even if you aren't Detective Beckett anymore. I will love you if you want to go back to school, or you want to sit and do nothing all day. I don't care what you do, as long as you let me love you regardless."

Her knees give out. He catches her, as always. "Rick, I love being a detective. I do. But thank you."

He shifts his feet, rocking her, them. "You're welcome, love." Sits back down with her on the couch. She curls into his side this time, a tangle of arms and hair and muted desire. Not right now. She finds the remote and flicks the TV on, not even caring.

He's not watching it. He's watching her, his eyes soft and tender. She finds his ribs through his shirt and ghosts her fingertips along them, laughing as he tenses.

"Don't tickle me, woman." She persists, trying to make her touch even lighter, and he yelps. He catches both her hands in his, shifts slightly to accommodate the bizarre position.

Her head settles on his shoulder again. He's solid behind her. Solid and warm. In the best possible way. She chuckles sardonically. Nikki Heat. Huh. She should have seen it coming.

But it's alright, now. It is. She can do this with him, she can allow him to support her and she can learn and grow. And someday, she feels confident she can recapture the rapture she once felt as she watched flames dance at the mercy of the air currents.


End file.
